The Metal Gear Doctrine
by Cleo Jane
Summary: In a world completely fabricated in lies and secrecy, what will happen when Matthew Webb conducts his own journey to understand who he is...? Or who he think he is? Will a mere clone of of hero find his own identity?
1. Prologue

**The Metal Gear Doctrine**

By Cleo Jane

**Notes:** This is my first fan fiction I have written in a long time and my first try to write and plan out a elaborate tale featuring the Metal Gear Solid universe. I have read many other stories my multiple writers who give their own spin about this epic series, having Solid Snake take down bad guys left and right, or Ocelot raising hell with Metal Gear Ray while Liquid is still obsessing over killing his cloned brother.  
But not one fiction I have read so far about the series did a good job of bring a original character into the mix without tearing up the plot or magically giving Solid Snake a son_…(cheap shot at the **squirrelking,** yes I know.)_

So…here my try.  
Let's see where this goes. 

_I thank you for reading._

--------

_**Prologue **_

Sometimes when I look at my father, I feel a sense of dread emitting from his face as he stares at me in return. I don't understand this foreign look, this stare of his that sometimes changes into a visible frown the more he glares at me. It's a distant stare, nearly soulless in some aspects for I think he isn't really glaring at me but rather…something about me.  
I already knew since I was child that I am different in some way. I don't have his eyes or his nose, not even his cheekbones or his smile. Everything on my face is strange and alien compared with his, even when he claims I might look more like Martha, the mother I will never know.

He's lying and he knows that I know he is a liar, but we have a mutual agreement. It's a silent contract we both signed so many years ago, one that he will never breach for he doesn't want to hurt me. Even now as a grown man, my father stares at me with the truth within his gaze but his oath still so resilient to my questions.

I love this man, the only father I ever known, the only person I can honestly can say will mourn me when I die. No, this is not the words of some pill-poppin, miserable; asshole.

This is the truth, the only truth I know to be true.

I know I am not human; there is something different about me. I don't know how I am so different or why I think I am, but I know within my very soul that I am. Maybe it's this alien face I wear, a face that sometimes doesn't even feel like my own. These curt thin lips that seem to never grace a smile from their stern line, or maybe the firm cheekbones that sit high under my flesh or the long sloped nose that gives away the truth I suspect.

My face is not my own, it has to belong to another who's name I do not know. These clear blue eyes are not my own, they seem so hard with spite and resentment for a world I do not know. These eyes seem so old, as if I lived this life a thousand times before. These eyes don't see love, they don't stare with compassion or lust; they are more akin to those of the deceased. Eyes of a wandering spirit, one who's misfortune in life followed him into death. Utterly lifeless, dull, faded eyes clouded over with such despair that can not be fully my own.

I have so many questions that may never be answered; my father will never tell me anything. Everyone around me seems to hold secrets around me, whether it is Ms. Carol, that old crow of a neighbor next door or if it's **Adam**, my father's hunting buddy, no one seems willing to spill the beans. I've tried researching for old adoption records wondering if I was adopted or something like that, but every time I searched I never found anything useful. Am I really that much of enigma?

Why won't they say anything…?

I am nearly twenty now, will they hold their tongues in silence forever? Sure feels like they will, but I don't think I can wait forever to hear what I need to know.

Maybe it's time for me to just search, just leave the nest and head off on my own. It is time for me to hunt down these answers and stop waiting for people to give them to me, if I want the truth; I better go get it myself. I'm tired of the lies, I am sick of the waiting, my father will die with his secrets and leave me wondering forever if I am really his son or not. He would rather die than tell me the truth; he is so kind yet so imaginably cruel.

I'm sick of asking this question over and over...

_"Who am I?"  
_


	2. Chapter One

**The Metal Gear Doctrine**

By Cleo Jane

**Notes:** Finally, the first chapter to what may be a ten chapter story if not a little longer but shy away from twenty chapters. Let me explain about The Metal Gear Doctrine a bit, this story is seen through the eyes of one of the other supposed clones of Snake, a young man named Matthew who finds himself _immersed_ within the Metal Gear Solid world. This entire story takes place before Guns of the Patriots, during/after the **MGS2: Sons of Liberty** plot.  
Other Metal Gear characters are going to show up in the story other than Snake, Raiden and Otacon. 

_So keep your eyes open and keep reading.  
_I hope all of you know who_ "James Johnson"_ was in MGS2

Yeah, I am getting deep into the fandom here.

_Enjoy.  
_

**Chapter One**

**Matthew's Father**

Charles Webb was a simple man, the kind of elderly fellow who enjoyed his own company and always kept to himself. Unlike our flamboyant neighbors here in Trappe, my dad wasn't the kind of man to open to just anyone. He was the pinnacle of silence, his lips always firmly shut in a somber frown no matter what occasion he may be in.  
That Charles Webb wasn't a boring man, though. He was interesting despite being as talkative as a tree stump. It was his past that made him so alluring, all those fancy pictures of him that hanged around the small house we lived in.

You see, my father was a military man. Yep, he spent his entire life in the armed forces and served the United States since he was old enough to vote! His father was a military man too, just like his father's father and there on. My dad had all sorts of black and white photos hanging around, a lot of which features him sporting a grand smile or smirk in every photo I ever saw. It was only in pictures that my father ever smiled so brightly, especially if there where pictures of him with mom in there. Yeah, mom…never got a chance to meet her but even she was a military buff.

My father served all his life, he fought in Vietnam when he was teenager, one of the few poor bastards not to get blown away by the Viet-cons there or get sprayed by napalm on his several tours in that hellhole. He was a lucky man to survive with all his limbs intact, not many young people like him back in the day where as lucky as him. He was just barely shy of twenty-five when he first signed up for the military and barely fifty years old when he finally made it to his current title of Colonel. Charles Webb breathed and lived in the military; everything else he used to love prior to his enlistment seemed to be all but a memory to him.

Sometimes when he sat me down near the fire, he would tell me his stories about how it was growing up in the South. His words would seem so clouded and muddy at times, hesitant since his memory started to fail him since he was a rather elderly old man by the time he and mom decided to have me. Mom, she died in birth having me.

I don't know too much about my mother expect for some of the happy photos I see of her with dad at places that I never heard of or ever will go too. Her name was Martha Holland, the daughter of Lt. Colonel Luke Holland who died during his tour in Kuwait during the Persian Gulf War. She was much younger than my father (he sure had a way with ladies even if he was a old crone) and swept her right off her feet. My mother was a pretty gal, bright reddish brown hair, fair skinned with deep brown eyes. Her cheeks in some of the photos look like they where dusted with little red freckles, she looked so adorable despite standing next to my old man who looked more like her father than husband.

They where married for only about three years or so until she died having me, the two of them supposedly met on the U.S.S Cole; Martha was a navy woman.

Unlike the many pictures of mom and dad together, dad never really talked about mom and just let the photos around here tell it for him. I never really felt comfortable speaking to my father about his personal life, he always seemed to stray away from any questions I may have if it lead away from his usual war stories. But in all truth, I really didn't mind that. Every man has their secrets, right? So I would just leave him be from such inquiry and just continue on just being a good son for my quiet father…

That is until I couldn't take the silence anymore.

Those eyes of his, his stare really began to unnerve me after my fifteenth birthday. It wasn't really the stare itself that bothered me but it was how he was looking at me that began to make me feel really self-conscious. He looked at me as if he was analyzing a land mine, trying to find pieces to pick away from it before it could blow up in his hand.

Sometimes we would go hours without speaking, him just watching me from the corner of his eyes as he wandered around this lonely house. The silence between us would just be crushing, smothering to the point of insanity as his stares unraveled me.  
There are plenty of times that I would just head out and see a few friends around town just to get away from my father and those dreadful frowns.

I didn't understand Charles Webb and probably never will now that he is dead. That man was a very quiet man; he loved his privacy and preserved his secrets even in death.  
When I found his corpse upon the floor, his eyes bulging out from his skull with blood dripping from his nose and lips; my mind went completely blank.

He was dead.

The man who I called my father was dead.

Charles looked so shattered upon the white titles of the kitchen floor, the phone unhooked from it's receiver for the long cord was tangled around his body. My heart stopped dead once I found him crumpled on the floor like that, the metallic scent of his blood overwhelming me as I desperately clutched on the nearest wall. I felt faint; I could feel the tears swell up within my eyes as I looked at him.

So much blood…

Was he shot? Was he stabbed? Or was it a combination of both?

I couldn't tell, the panic was just rising too quickly for me to try and make sense out of his cause of death. I just stood there frozen, eyes as wide as they could be…

I could feel the salty tears run down my cheeks, but I couldn't move to wipe them off.  
I was paralyzed in complete fear, trying to make sense of the scene before me.  
The last thing I remembered about my father on that early November morning was the fact he told me that he was going to visit Adam soon.

Yeah, Adam…

That guy is as sinister as they come. I never knew Adam's last name, but judging by his looks, it was probably _'Smith'_ or _'Jackson'_ something hick-ish to go along with that _Colonel Mustard_ mustache of his and old fashion cowboy boots. Adam was a real sleaze ball, if you ask me. Not the kind of guy you would want to get too comfortable with, especially when he was twirling that revolver of his.

That guy had a real fondness for revolvers…

I knew Adam ever since I was little; my father introduced him to me as a old war buddy of his from Vietnam. Even when I was a boy, I was still disliked Adam. That man had a very cruel smile, one that bared his canines a bit like a hissing feline. His brow was always furrowed, with those long gray eyebrows arching low in a sinister frown.

That bastard scared the hell out of me when I was a boy; he was the source of many nightmares when he dropped by for a night or so over at our home.

My greatest fear when I was little was that the big, bad Adam would come up those stairs and slam one of those silver revolvers down my throat with that mocking grin of his upon his face. I was scared that the bastard would kill me in my sleep and even when I told my father about my fears, Charles would just shake his head and brush me off telling that Adam is no scary monster.

I never warmed up to my father's friend, I pretended to smile whenever Adam came over but I never once liked the old coot. Maybe it was those old silver spurs he wore on the back of his gator skinned boots, or maybe that old fashion red gloves he always wore…

There was just something about those bright blue eyes Adam had that I didn't like.

It may have been unfair of me to judge him so harshly but I felt as if I was just in my assumption of him. As if I held past memories of Adam somewhere in my subconscious, as if I met him before in another life. That cheesy grin of his dug under my skin ever since I was old enough to make words. It was his flamboyant demeanor that made me narrow my eyes in such disgust. Adam was quite a character…so that is probably reason why I blame him now for my father's sudden demise.

One could not express the utter shock I had on my face when I saw Adam present at the funeral. He wasn't a hard man to spot through the sea of black and gray. Even then, he wore that same cowboy attire except with a long brown trench coat to match. It was shame that he would be the only man I recognized through this moment of sorrow. Not even Ms. Carol from next door came to my father's funeral. All the faces I seen on that day wasn't of the usual local townsfolk I bumped into every now and then.

Most of the men who came to this funeral where dressed in dark blues or green military uniforms…

I know that Charles had a few buddies in the military but I wouldn't expect such a big turn out on his funeral! They where all service men, some of them rank as far up as Colonel to General in this gathering of military personnel, if I didn't know any better I would have sworn this was a funeral for the late _President James Johnson_ rather than for my own father.

It was too eerie for me to stay there and count the many stars and badges that lied upon those bleak uniformed chests. I had to leave there; I simply fled under the shade of the willowing trees as I made my escape from this maddening orchestra. I wanted no part of Charles funeral; it wasn't even his funeral anymore. The funeral didn't feel like it was for the man I knew, I know my father couldn't have known all those gray suits that showed up to greet him a half sincere farewell.

It was fake…


	3. Chapter Two

The Metal Gear Doctrine 

By Cleo Jane

_Author's Notes  
Sorry about this chapter being rather short, may go back and revise it some day soon but a lot of unexpected stresses started to play in.  
I really want to get this chapter out real quick so I can get back to plotting what I have planned for chapter 3 and beyond.  
_

**Chapter Two**

**Alone**

The world is a cold and scary place.

It's a relative fact that we all know, some better than others…

I never realized that fact until I struck out on my own, leaving everything behind back within that little whimper of town.

I didn't want to go back, especially not after the funeral. I really didn't want to seat in that lonely old house by myself anymore. It's only been a few months since my father died and I'm already completely lost without him. It was really hard to stay there, nearly impossible for me to even thread upon the kitchen for the first few days, the memories of his last dying breaths too fresh for me to bear. Every time I would go near the kitchen door, I would see him there…as if he was still alive while in the evening sometimes I could still hear him thumping about upstairs against those tired old wooden floors. I would swear up and down that I could still feel his presence in this house, as if that the pathetic funeral was only a ruse to get my goat!

For those last few months before I left dusty house, I believed that Charles Webb was still alive…

But since the funeral, Adam would stop by nearly every week to check on me. It was odd how he would talk to me now, eyes seeming so caring and gentle, very unlike the usual icy glares I would receive from him usually. Adam began to seem more human to me now, less than the monster I pegged him to be sense childhood.

But during those months, I actually grew quite fond of him. He was a sly old coot, the kind of guy who could easily baffle you with all his fancy talk. Adam's whole personality was fascinating! Refreshing even, a far chance from the somber stares and shy smiles I've gotten since dad died. Adam had a certain arrogant flair about him; he walked tall with his shoulders back in perfect posture. He would curl his gray mustache a bit as he talked, curling the right tip of it between his thumb and index finger whenever he was lost in thought. Adam was quite a smoker, though I didn't mind the foggy smog he would end up making with those cigars of his.

He would play around and always try to give me one of his _cancer bombs_, but I always declined.

Adam was my source of entertainment, probably the only sole person in all of Trappe who could wring a chuckle out of me.

But don't get me wrong…

I still wouldn't put my life in Adam's hands…

For some odd reason, despite how close he and I became over the last few months, something in my very _soul_ told me not to trust that man.

I can't really explain what the eerie feeling was but sometimes I couldn't even look at Adam. It was strange, the more he stopped by, the more this horrid feeling came. Despite how much I desperately enjoyed his company, something deep inside my heart told me not to trust this man. I began to feel paranoid around him, my mind searching for any excuse to deter his weekly visits.

Soon I found myself scared of him again as if I was a child again.

Dealing with this blind fear drained me; dealing with my father's sudden death drained me as well.

Dealing with this small town drained me, too…

I needed to get away from here; I need to escape from all who knew me as Webb's son.

I didn't want to stay in this quiet little town anymore; I wanted to run from the hushed whispers and the blank stares.

So I did what any other person did and just ran! I didn't even tell Adam I was leaving for New York, not even a hint for him to notice that I was all packed up and ready to go. I just left him and Trappe behind and took whatever bits of cash my father left in his will and not once did I explain myself.

No one knew where I went and that made me happy…

I wanted to be alone, my paranoia only permitted for me to be alone in the first place.

New York wasn't a bad place to start a new beginning….

It was kind of dreary here in _'The Big Apple'_, the clouds where normally gray this time of year. I moved to New York City just when autumn ended. I didn't even wait to take care of the mortgage of the house or even try to sell it. I just left Maryland as fast as I could, hoping that a new life in one of the largest cities on earth would hide me from all the sorrow. I pretended to be anyone else besides Matthew Webb, sometimes giving my dates _fake names_ to know me by.

Yeah, I had a few girlfriends here and there since I moved from Trappe.

None of them was serious, of course. I'm not the kind of man to be committed to anyone. I seriously doubt I can stay in a relationship no longer than a month tops, since I always let the paranoia get the better of me. Yep, I've broken a few hearts here and there…

But I didn't move all the way from home to live the playboy lifestyle, I moved here to get away from everything I once _thought_ I knew.

It felt good here, really rejuvenating to be on my own like this. Yeah, I worked two different jobs here the city but it was still much more adventurous and intriguing than anything I ever did upstate. It was as if nothing has ever happened, as if Adam never existed, my father and his secrets…those peculiar military people at the funeral. Nothing about my awkward past mattered here and I think that's why I enjoyed being in New York so much. The more I think about the first month I moved here, the more I realize now that perhaps those where the happiest days of my life. I felt really different…not that bad different, but just…

Damn, hard to explain!

But at least here I have a certain peace of mind knowing that no one here knows who I am really am. It's rough to make ends meet sometimes, but at least I am not all cooped up in that shaggy old house anymore. I can go to any place I want too now without worrying about the next door neighbors eying through their venison blinds. No more hushed whispers behind my back, no more of the fake smiles and somber _'hellos'_.

I'm actually free.


	4. Chapter Three

The Metal Gear Doctrine

By Cleo Jane

_Notes: I need to update regularly…But thank you too all who have been reviewing my story!  
The real reason I am really trying to complete this fanfiction is to see if people actually DO like my writing style.  
I am no Kojima, but I am having fun trying to merge Matthew with the MGS world! __  
I just hope my little twist on the series will be remembered as a fun read since MGS fanbase, in general, is lacking good solid stories._

_So please, enjoy._

**Chapter Three**

**George**

There is one thing I utterly loathe about people…

And it's how_ nosy_ they can be.

Seems I have a bit of a _'Curious George'_ following me about these days. I had to quit my job at the restaurant, the pay was certainly not cutting it for me and the manager was just a complete prick. So after helping myself to the cash register just before I left (I believe in unemployment pay, okay?), I just gathered up my things and left right out the side door of '_Per Se'_ as quickly as I could. It was just about evening time, the cloud over head had a bit of a reddish hue to them, lighting up the cold gray concrete with somewhat dull reds and oranges. Pretty sunset for Manhattan, almost like one of those classic old movies you see on The Movie Channel, just right before the credits rolled on in. It was damn good day to quit, I tell you that! Weather wasn't too cold or too warm; here the city could get damn frigid sometimes during winter. Just last week it was less than thirty degrees outside but today on this Monday, it was actually around sixty degrees at the peak of twelve noon.

To say the least, all I had on was just a white shirt and a pair of black slacks with the usual nearly worn out boots. I dumped that stupid restaurant uniform in my sack, holding my jacket in the other arm as I marched down 69th street to head to the train station near Lincoln Center. It was a nice walk, lots of thinking and not too many people out to get in the way both my path and my thoughts.

It's been about a year now since the old man died.

I've been out here on my own for some time now, still working two jobs here to make the damn rent but at least it wasn't so bad. I ended up working at that stuffy restaurant a good month ago after I stepped in to hand in a fake resume I conjured up. The old manager was a woman before this new guy stepped in; she took one look at me and told me I had the job. Working as a waiter is a crappy job no matter how classy the restaurant, but at least I got some decent tip from all those Long Island born yuppies that ventured toward the restaurant during my late night shift.

I could easily make a one-hundred dollar tip on my smile alone if I charmed the pampered princesses, well enough.

That's one thing I find rather amusing about New York City, everyone is a sucker for a pretty face.

If any of those pretentious bitches ever found out what I really thought about them, they would probably slap me across the chick for thinking the most lewd thoughts ever as they bounce their breasts within their fake Versace dresses and matching four hundred dollar stilettos. But I managed to keep the disdain and hatred out of my eyes for as long as possible until today, when that dumb ass manager started his crap with me.

Everyone is a sucker for a pretty face, but be wary of jealous, short, pricks like Claudio. Talk about arrogant; snotty and disgusting, this gut was the poster child of a nerd who used to get the shit knocked out of him in high school. A real asshole, worse than that jerk Adam, if you ask me! Hell, I bet even Adam couldn't take on such a flamboyant personality, even he would have to turn tail and run!

Funny…

I haven't thought about Adam in a long time.

The past seems so distant to me now, as if all of it never happened…  
You should see me sometimes; I forget my real name in the lies I tell daily.

Right now I am living under the alias of _'Andrew Lawrence'_, that is the name I used for the job back there at Per Se and the name the landlord knows me as. I decided on that name to be my main name for it was so easy to remember and for the fact it was a play on words, sort of speak. Never trust a man with two first names, right? Not many people seem to follow or understand that old philosophy.

You can say I was having fun with my fake life, having fun being various people, having fun pretending to be anyone else but Matthew.

But you know?

I am still him, regardless how much I may have changed.

Hair bleached blond, blue contacts in both eyes, even a damn tan (God help me, I have no idea how I got a tan in the middle of winter) but I was still the same dull-eyed brat from Trappe in the inside. Nothing could erase that fact; no matter how hard I tried I still felt that sense of loneliness more than ever before when my father was alive.

"Eh?! S-sorry!" Interrupted in my monologue…?

"I didn't see you! S-so sorry!" I accidentally ran into some guy on my way to the train station. Some meek, nerdy kind of guy who was frantically searching all over the street on his hands and knees, he was whining about his glasses that must have slipped off somewhere. I didn't remember seeing the guy climb up the stairs, I guess I was probably too pensive to realize.

"It's okay." I shrugged, it's not like was upset or anything about it but its hard to miss someone who is literally six foot tall. "Hey, these yours?" Picking up a pair of worn out metal framed glasses off the second to last step leading to the subway below, I handed them over to it's owner with a bit a smile. Poor guy looked as worn out as his glasses, little speckles of gray forming on the front crown of his shaggy brown hair. He had some black bags under his eyes, a few wrinkles at the bridge of his nose and forehead. The poor bastard looked so stressed out, squinting so much that he looked kind of Asian to me at first but I could easily tell he was Caucasian.

"t-T-Thanks!" He choked out, coughing a bit as he reached for his glasses. Maybe guy had a cold or something for once he slid the lukewarm metal past the outer lobe of his ears; he just stared at me completely petrified. It was the oddest moment I ever experienced. I didn't know who this guy was at first. I had no idea about the trouble that would follow him either, but I just stared at him back in similar curiosity before I heard the downtown one train come into the station.

"Welcome!" Shouting back at the guy, I just sped off it as fast I could!

Be damned if I was going to wait for the next train…

A few weeks passed since I was fired from Per Se, started working at this little mom and pops' video rental store up the block from my apartment near Motts street. Considering it was near a Oriental neighborhood, the store was usually stacked with crates after crates of imported Japanese videogames and a few too many of that weird cartoon stuff that many of the teenagers liked these days. The job didn't hardly pay as much as my old one as a waiter, no tips to look forward too but at least I didn't have to kiss anyone's ass here.  
Many of the customers would just run in and out the place, grabbing for either their favorite toy of Chinese Superman or the girls getting the latest bootleg Hello Kitty glam on. It was a easy job but it wasn't hardly enough to help make ends meet, that's why I ended up working at late nights as a delivery man for the Taiwanese restaurant nearby.

I was far gone, sleep being a precious commodity long lost from my economy as well from my vocabulary. I can't count the number of times that Mr. Li found me asleep in the back when I was suppose to be filling the aisles of the shop with new nerdy merchandise. He would yell at me and sometimes even throw one of those Japanese comic books at my face since those damn things where as heavy the flippin' Bible!

Forget what I bitched and moan about when I was still with Per Se, this place here is far worse than that snooty restaurant…

But really sold me on the idea that perhaps I was cornered in the pits of Hell, was when I saw good ol' _George_ wander on in the shop one day. Yeah, I gave my stalker a nickname! Curious George, or sometimes I just refer to the nerd as 'Glasses' instead when talking to Mr. Li about him.

The same guy I met a good two weeks back, remember him? Yeah, the guy who bumped into me near at the 66th street station, this nameless, four-eyed freak who gave me the evil eye then was giving me the eye now. I don't know if he was trying to stare me down or something, but I got to tell you, George loves to show up here everyday since he spotted me outside from the store window. You should've seen his face, it lit up with all sorts of emotions like one of those drama masks you see hanging on some theater wall. There was sadness! There was anger! There was even a little bit of fear within his gaze as he rushed through the door and stared at me with those bright blue eyes.

At first, I just ignored George every time he wandered into the shop and every time he passed by the window. I was just analyzing him, willing to put up with his shit just a little bit before the paranoia really started to kick in. It was comical; I had no idea why this little idiot found me so fascinating. I first pegged him as _gay_ or something, but I soon realized that was probably not the reason.

Nope, there where something about those eyes of his that told me otherwise…

By the fifth day of this strange game of cat and mouse, I was at my breaking point.  
I was sick of this damn store, sick of the loud ass sound of Mr. Li's TV set in the back(He seemed to be a sucker for day time dramas) and sick to death of the little annoying bastard who kept returning nearly twice a day to check if I was still alive. I'm much like my father, I value my privacy and George was getting on my last damn nerve…

I knew I shouldn't have ever bleached my hair blond; it attracts all sorts of unwanted attention.

_Afterthought: You'll find out who this George is, soon enough..._


	5. Chapter Four

**The Metal Gear Doctrine**

**By** Cleo Jane (chibiandorat)

_**Author's Notes:** I need to update regularly…_

_I will get to everyone's questions in a bit, I have read my recent reviews and noticed there is a bit of questions that do need to get cleared up._

_As many of you already know, Matthew is a clone like Snake and his brothers where cloned of Big Boss._

_When I say that Matthew is the son of Snake rather than of Big Boss, I am saying that instead of being cloned to resemble Big Boss, Matthew is the clone OF a clone, which makes him techincally Snake's son like many considered Snake to be the son of Big Boss._

_Clones can not have children for they are all born sterile. _

**Chapter Four**

**The Cuckoo's Nest**

One day, just one day changed my life forever.

Just that moment ruined whatever happiness I actually had.

I had to strike out on my own like this, without a clue in what to do. I've never been so scared before to be alone like this, I enjoy my solitude but this is becoming far too much for me to take. I already know I am not like most people, I know better than to tell my story to just anyone. Many people would probably just brush me off anyways, especially since everyone so hung up in their own misfortunes. I know better than to trust anyone to be my confidant, know better than to fall for all that 'I care for you' bullshit.

It is not in human nature to be caring and loving individuals. As seen on the tube and in history, humanity is more prone to violence than love.

It is that chilling fact that keeps me biting my tongue and seeking out someone to comfort me on these dark days. I am constantly on guard, always weary of those who take a keen interest me. I never bring up conversation about family or hobbies, always keeping the gossip about the individual rather than about me.

It is because I know better than to ever talk about me.

So imagine how I feel now that some creepy stalker has taken an interest in me over the last few days. I am pretty much close to cracking here; _'George'_ is getting on my last damn nerves…

I see him nearly everyday, if not twice a day, studying me whenever I am at the video store from across the street. Sometimes I see him when he is trying to be obvious, but there are times when I do not see him at all but I can feel his eyes lingering upon still.

I do not have a _clue _as of why this person has taken such an interest in me lately, but I am at the end of my rope here.

I cannot even sleep without thinking that his fiery glare is boring holes into me…

Is this man a friend of Charles by any chance? I never saw George's face before until that time we bumped into each other near the train station. I don't have a frickin' idea who George is; yet every time I catch him staring at me, it feel as if he **knows** everything about me. I have been on edge ever since he first laid eyes on me and now I am at the breaking point.

George knows something about me.

He is not a friend of Charles and he could not possibly be a friend of Adam. My dad had very few friends and Adam did not seem like the kind of person to have more friends than enemies in this world. So who is this George?

The question began to bore in me more and more until I found myself just waiting one day in front of the train station at Canal Street. Just waiting there around ten o'clock at night, right after I got off work from the shop.

I was not waiting for anyone in particular at first, I just did not feel like going back to that stank little ass apartment of mine. Did not feel like dealing with the closing in gray walls, did not feel like eating day old take out again. I just stood there for hours in front of the train station, just pacing back and forth a bit after bumming a smoke from passing clown dressed in a tacky silver and black _vintage_ jacket.

Yeah, one thing about New York that I've learned since moving here…

These fuckers dress weird.

Old is New and what was new is old or some fucked up fashion philosophy like that got people parading up and down the city streets wearing this vintage shit. Be damned if I understood why the person who was generous enough to offer me a smoke; was wearing a silver and black blazer suit with a matching feathered fedora on his head with a pair of fuchsia sneakers to fuck up the entire look further. The poor smuck was wearing thick framed glasses as well, just grinning from ear to ear like a real smart ass despite not realizing how stupid he looked.

I just shook my head and took a long pull.

It has been awhile since I actually had a cig, especially since here in the city a single pack costs around seven dollars or more! _Pfft!_ I do not have money to waste, so this little addiction of mine causes for some sleepless nights and many orders of Asian takeout to get over the tobacco craze.

However, just when I was savoring the moment, I felt something rather hard press against my back and a hushed voice lurking to my ears.

"Don't move."

I must have pissed off some Gods in my past life to deserve all this, but I honestly thought I actually was going to die when I realized it was 'George' behind with a gun.

Well, I will be damned! I knew New York is a dangerous city, but be damned if I knew I would find myself negotiating for my life at the hands of some psycho glasses wearing creep!

"L-l-look man…" My voice was a bit shaky knowing that there where no one else nearby to see this scene unfold. Most of Canal is damn near empty after ten, so imagine how it is when it is fifteen minutes to twelve in the morning…

I was waiting outside of the train station for a good two hours, trying to will myself into going home, but finding that my feet just did not want to climb down those stairs. I was reluctant to go home, just spend another Friday night alone, and now look at me!  
There he is, George, pressing a gun to my back hard enough that I swore my kidneys could feel it!

"If it's money you want…I ain't got a dime, man." My voice was a bit clearer this time but my heart was beating rapid and a cold sweat kept dripping from my brow.

"You know where I work at, you know I am probably not getting paid much…"

"**Shut up!" **That last line seemed to piss him off a bit more for he jabbed the gun against my back even hard now. "That's not why I am here, damn it! You know why!"

God, if I knew why this geek hated me so much I would be wallowing for forgiveness right now!

"_Shadow Moses_!" My ears arched back a bit, confusion clearly formed upon my face when I heard that.

"What the hell?" I did not know Moses had a Shadow….

"Err, sorry…I am not a religious guy…" Just what the fuck is this idiot babbling about?!

"What? You don't remember?" How can I remember if I have no fucking CLUE what you are talking about _buddy-boy_?

"Remember what? Listen, I…I honestly don't fucking know you or this Moses guy." I slowly began to turn around as I spoke, my voice still a bit uneven as my heart lurched forward in an even faster pace than before from just my eyes looking down at the barrel of that gun.

George looked scared; almost as scared as I felt if it was not for the fact, he was the one with the power here. He stared at me as if he was staring back into the back of the Devil.  
His eyes were not clear, glassed over with an unspeakable volume of hatred and fear behind the lenses of those thin glasses he wore. He looked unkempt, scruffy and a bit worn out; just like I remembered him before. His hair was quite long, more like a medium coffee color that nearly looked black within all the shadows that surrounded us. There was not a sole out there besides this revengeful man, no one else to witness the scene first hand and me. His forehead was damp with sweat, while his hands where shaking around the gun he clenched so tightly.

"L-listen…" I started speaking again hoping that maybe I could talk my way out of this mess. I really do not know who this man is or why he hates me so, but I was not about to just wait for this person to pull the trigger.

"I am not the man you think I am, buddy. God knows if I was him, I would just admit so…"

For a moment, it looked like my words where actually heard and the gun was slightly lowered. I could tell the look of apprehensive upon George's face as he glared at me still. His eyes didn't look so hateful anymore, more skeptical with the memories of a past that I did not know.

For a second, I had hope that he would actually let me go!

That is…

Until something cracked me upside my skull from behind, hard enough that I swore, I could taste blood in the back of my throat.

I went down faster than a sack of potatoes, stumbling right over and onto George in a heap. I was actually surprised when George dropped the gun to catch me before I actually pavement; but by then I was more concerned about the ominous black figure that loomed over us both now.

Yet, judging by George's shocked yet somewhat scolding tone this person was probably a friend of his…

"_SNAKE!? How did you know…?"_

Yeah, this city is a _cuckoo's nest_…


	6. Chapter Five

**The Metal Gear Doctrine The Metal Gear Doctrine**

**By** Cleo Jane _(chibiandor at hotmail dot com)__  
_

**Chapter Five**

_Disclaimer: I have not forgotten to update this fic, just took me awhile to figure out a way to introduce Snake to the story. _

**Snake**

I never talked about my childhood to anyone before, never taking the time to analyze the life I lived so far. I have always been living in the moment, trying to gain my breath to prove that I am alive. Not once have I sat back and really thought about the memories that have lingered with me. Whether they are the photos mother I never had or the father who I never knew; I never took a moment to _think_ abouton my entire so far.

Therefore, whenever anyone asks me about my past, I just shrug my shoulders and say…

'_Meh, I'm nothing special.'_

Who would have guessed that I would end up being wrong…?

I woke up with a sharp ear-splitting pain that shot right down the back of my skull and down towards the bone of my neck. I was laying on something, like a couch or something soft, too soft to be a floor or a mat. My head was perched upon a dusty old pillow, the rest of my body just limp against the sofa as I kept on trying to move my limps. I tried to get up once, failing the first time when the headache became to excruciating for me to bare. I just laid there on that filthy couch, my eyes blinded by the bright lights that loomed overhead. For a moment, everything that I remembered from earlier seemed to be only a dream to me at first! Remembering the bitter cold of the deserted streets and the gunman, who held me at bay, all seemed like some ludicrous fantasy to me now. My mind could not comprehend what happened to me, as if I had amnesia…

If it was not for the faint footsteps I heard approaching, I may have just fallen back to sleep again, for I was really _just fucked up_.

"Hey? Hey! You awake, aren't you?" Who the fuck this guy…?

I could tell it was a person talking to me, a young twenty year-old judging the slight nasal sound of his voice. Probably a white guy, my eyes couldn't quite focus just yet.

"Y-yeah…I'm fuckin' awake." I heard the guy chuckle a bit, a low chuckle barely audible to my ears even in the odd silence that surrounded us.

"Heh, you are kind of like him after all!" His voice was closer this time; the guy was probably crouching right near the couch or something now.

"You kind of sound like him, you know? A bit younger but you do sound like him"

A growl ended up being my reply to him as I forced myself to sit up suddenly, only to have this horrible pain kick me cross the skull again!

"Who the fuck are you, man?" I did not give a damn who this creep was or why the fuck he was talking to me!

I just wanted to know what happened to me!

"Whoa, easy there!" The bastard put his hand on my shoulder and I shrugged his ass off!  
"Hey, tiger!" I could tell the gesture pissed him off a bit by the sudden change in his voice. He was not silently laughing at me anymore.

"Listen, you are in good hands…you shouldn't be acting like that."

Oh, joy!

My would-be-kidnapper is telling me that I am in great hands! Sure, buddy! I am such great hands that you fuckers kidnapped me off the streets of New York-Fucking-City and dragged my unconscious body back to your LAIR for a damn voodoo sacrifice or some shit! If I could see the smiling fuck a bit better than I could, I would have punched him right them and there for saying something so utterly asinine.

He is lucky that I ended up distracted by the footsteps of another….

"Um… Raiden…" I'll be damned…**GEORGE IS HERE**!

That had to be George…that little nerdy fuck who started all this shit.

"Raiden, is he doing alright?" What's with the concern, George?! I thought you wanted me dead you sick bastard!

My slight amnesia was fading away quickly the more I listened into the two's conversation. I could literally feel my blood boiling at this point, remembering everything from that accidental first meeting at had with the stalker. Picking up George's glasses off the concrete, only to be awarded with the most anguished glare I ever seen in my life.

Then, that fucker was stalking me ever since I was just fired from Per Se!

Then…THEN…!

The gun…the train station! Someone sneaked up right behind me when George was aiming the gun at my face…

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" My eyes were wide open then, no more blurriness no more blindness! It had to be my rage that sparked my ass into gear, either that or fear that I was going to end up dead by the hands of this annoying nerd!

Oh, you should have SEEN the look of terror on their faces then! Good ol' George looked like he was about to crap himself and the blond next to him looked equally surprised by my outburst. I swung my legs off the couch and stumbled up to my feet the next moment, a low growl emanating from my lips as I pinned the foulest glare I could muster up despite the horrible pain still lurking within my head.

"Y-y-you…um! SNAKE!" George yelled as he backed away from my first swing. I was already lunging at the creep before that blond snatched to the side roughly.  
"Hey! Cool it!" I did not even bother to listen to him; my mind was only concern in wrapping my hands around George's throat and choking the very life out of him!  
That damn George is the reason why I am here! If I never bumped into that bastard that one faithful day, I could have saved myself weeks of anguish at the hands of this stalking bastard! He is just one more stupid fuck who thinks it is funny to ruin with the already _ruined_ life of Matthew Webb…

I am going to make him suffer for this shit!

"LET GO OF ME!" My voice came out more like an angry snarl than actual words, all of my pent up hate unleashed now as I punched and kick at the blond. "I said LET GO!"  
I was clawing at the blond guy's arm, damn near ready to bite him and fling him right into the nearest wall until the sound of hushed footsteps caught my attention…

"Snake! Help me contain this guy!" I ended up struggling even more against the annoying bastard, finally snatching myself out of his grasp to give this 'Snake' a quick right hook right across his damn jaw! Smack! Right in the kisser, I tell you! Best damn punch I ever laid on a person, enough to make the big bastard reel back for a second and cause a gasp from good ol' George over there!

I just grinned the entire time...that is until I saw who this 'Snake' fellow was.

This man is built like an ox, much stronger looking than the petty-boy and his buddy George. This guy was chiseled, broad shoulders and thick muscles hidden under a plain black t-shirt and a pair of old beat up denim. At first, I could not believe I knocked this dude right on his ass with my punch. Hell, I was pleasantly surprised by my own strength just now but when this 'Snake' started to get up from the floor…

I was in for the shock of my life…

"Heh." He just chuckled for a moment as he rubbed his jaw a bit with a smirk on his face he peered back at me. "Not a bad punch for a rookie…" My fists fell down at my sides and I could feel whatever little bits of sanity I had left beginning to wan as he continued to speak. "Though, it would probably been more effective if you weren't so damn scrawny!" My mouth went dry that moment and I could feel my eyes growing larger and larger. "You really look like a mess, kid." He yanked out a cigarette from his jean pocket as he stared at me.

I just stood there gawking at this man like a dead fish out of water. I did not even remember that blondie and George where still nearby. Hell, I did not even remember to breathe for next two minutes; my entire focus was on Snake…

And **my** face that he wore…


End file.
